“That one was going to be mine,” James says as he retrieves the boiling water.
“You wish.” Sweat clings to my brow. I wipe at it quickly, not wanting him to know how hard holding that silver against him was at the end.
When he returns with a mug of water, he crafts the metal from the floor, looking sheepishly at the solid hunk. “I should have been teaching you how to pulverize this.”
“Murphy, I know how to pulverize. They do teach that in lower-level crafting classes, you know.”
By the look on his face he definitely did not know that.
Much like our game of push and pull we start cutting the metal, a competition emerging once again, this time unspoken. Who can carve faster, with more precision? Back and forth we work until dust-like crumbs lay before us.
This feels like training together. We’re pushing against one another, but for the first time to create something. “I always wanted to train with you in the mornings before class,” I admit.
His mouth pops open and he stops pulverizing. “Why did you never ask?”
“Because you’re you and I’m me.” I wave my hand between us like that’s enough explanation.
He frowns.
“What, was I going to ask you to only practice in copper? And when I could do more than copper, I was too scared you’d notice my strength.”
“Okay, the last year makes sense. But before that? Do you remember when I approached you all those times?”
“Oh, when you’d waltz over and critique me? How could I forget.” I smother my voice in sarcasm.
His cheeks flush. “I was trying to help.”
“By criticizing me?”
“I’m not—I’m not great at talking with… people.”
“And yet everyone always wants to talk to you.”
He pauses and I wait until he continues. “I wear this… mask. I have to be a certain way around my family. An extension of that at the racing tracks. Then at school I… well, they treat me like I’m a dragon they can bond with to advance their own career.”
I go stock-still, finally seeing it. The coldness. The indifference. What a perfect mask. One I fell for over and over. “Is this the real you then?” I don’t know why I whisper the question like it’s a secret until I watch as James contemplates it. Then my reasoning snags. I want him to say yes. The boy in front of me nice enough to help me brew a silver tea is the real him.
“It’s more complicated than that. Yes, I wear masks, but—” He rubs the back of his neck. “Maybe the idea of masks is a bad analogy.”
“No, it makes sense. Keep going.”
His eyes catch mine before he looks away. “I wear different masks, but they are all a part of me. I don’t put one on and pretend like you have to since Nity. I…” He shifts in his chair. “I see what people want from me, what they can handle, and I give them that part of myself. But it is a part of myself. Just a different facet.”
A limited view. I’ve always just gotten to see a limited view. “Which part do you show me then?”
He laughs as his warm brown eyes meet mine. “I thought the fact that I’m even explaining this made that pretty clear.”
I frown, not understanding.
“You see all of me, Walsh.”
Thirty minutes later, the metal properly turned into salt-sized dust, James begins teaching me what I’ve spent countless hours trying to master on my own.
He pours the silver into a steaming cup of water. “Everyone thinks metaled tea is just crushing and stirring the metal. And in part it is, but thebest and most potent mixtures are those fully integrated and dissolved into the liquid.”
I nod along. “Makes sense.” This is why consuming mere metal flakes won’t cut it. It can help, it can heal, but not like a crafted tea. I focus on the cup in front of me. Steam curls into the air. I move my hands in circles, trying to mimic what I’ve seen James do. The silver below barely stirs.
James’s hands hover over mine much like the night of the hatchlings’ birth, so I echo the same permission. “You can touch me.”
